by Frank Perry
was given this mission by his supreme leader with financing from contributions throughout the Muslim world. He would be disgraced, or worse, if it failed. He was ugly, but had so much facial hair that it was hard to discern his features. At least he wasn’t wearing the white skull cap, taqiyah, which infuriated the crew. The only thing that could be seen by anyone who cared to look was teeth and eyes. The eyes! They had an insanely piercing quality that seldom held a steady gaze more than a fraction of a second. He had never spoken to the crew, and they preferred it that way.
As the sled rose, the Captain barked at the helmsman to maintain a straight course and not to be distracted. Long swells caused the ship to rise and fall, while spray blew across the deck. Conditions were not good, but they had to proceed. Ivanov wanted the Muslim off the deck, and off the ship. In the Navy, it was never permissible to be on the bridge without permission of the Officer of the Deck. Majiid had not asked permission to be on the bridge. Ivanov found him repulsive and knew the feeling was mutual. If Majiid were not paying a small fortune for this delivery, the crew would have thrown the arrogant bastard overboard. It would have been easy, just another “man overboard” in international waters.
Dropping the sled overboard in the rough sea while underway at night required skill and care by the crew, and any mistake could be disastrous. Majiid paced behind the Captain, further annoying him. As the cargo rose slowly, Ivanov moved to the navigation table inside the closed bridge to double-check their location. They needed to be positioned over the Bahamian shoals in less than twenty five fathoms of water. The process required more precision than this crew, or this ship, was able to deliver. Nevertheless, it was their job tonight.
The shoals were located inside the ‘contiguous zone’ of U.S. waters, and the ship could be subject to search under certain conditions. In 1999 President Clinton extended the zone from 12 to 24 miles. The U.S. ‘territorial sea’ extends from the coastline out to twelve miles, which has more onerous laws and search rules, so they had to drop the load outside this boundary. Once the sled was over the side, but still attached, they were in greatest peril. The Captain ordered the helmsman to turn ten degrees to port, heading directly into the swells.
The crane operator raised the sled above the deck and side rails, while two crewmen grabbed ropes hanging from either end to keep it oriented in the direction of the ship. Morzh rose and fell on the swells. Footing was dangerous and there were no lights on deck. As the sled passed over the side rail, the rope handlers tried to keep it pointed ahead. Over the side, it should have been about fifteen feet down to the turbulent black wake below, but this night the distance varied from twelve to eighteen feet between waves.
All the crewmen were receiving extra pay and risking their lives. There had been no way to practice the cargo drop at sea, crossing in rough conditions. They had only one chance to succeed. As the sled started down, a daring young seaman had volunteered to ride on top to disconnect the cable. He would also pull the flood control cable tethered to the lifting ring. The older men knew how dangerous this was and tried to invent a remote way to disconnect, but the cavalier youth thought it would be exhilarating. The Captain yelled from the bridge in Russian, “Keep those lines taut, do not allow it to broach! Double up, double up!” Some of the crew looked up at the bridge, but sea, wind and winch noise obscured the orders.
As the sled began lowering overboard, the seaman perched on the rail and jumped on top. As it neared the waterline, waves pummeled the bottom of the sled, causing it to jerk violently. As it lowered further, the payload oscillated as the current took hold of the sled. Everyone was shouting in the confusion. The sled slammed into the ship enraging Majiid. The Captain was more concerned about his crew than damaging the payload. The crane creaked under the stain and the sled jerked rearward stretching the cable. The sled dove, leaving the rear elevated and swinging wildly. Water was breaking over the front and the crane boom could break at any moment. As the sled porpoised up and down, the young sailor grasped the cable hook with all his might, but could not release it from the ring under extreme tension. He was panicking. On deck, another boy was screaming while crewmen restrained him from jumping over to help. In a desperate attempt to slacken the cable, the operator released the winch brake and it began spooling out, but the effect was momentary. The old mechanism was too rusted and a black wave engulfed the sled. The seaman gave one last heroic tug on the cable and was able to release it, but lost his grip on the wet hook, which was his only way back aboard. Even in darkness, the men saw the horror on his face and heard his last scream. For a moment, it looked like he would float past the stern of the ship, but as the current grabbed the sled, it slammed against the ship twice and tipped violently. The youth fought to keep hold, but lost his balance and flailed with one hand while torrents grabbed at him. Gasping in the froth, his grip failed and he slipped into the dark abyss beside the hull. The sled remained on the surface while flooding, but the boy was sucked into the ship’s propeller. His crewmates knew there would be no need for a rescue attempt. Behind the ship, the ballast tanks flooded and the sled sank.
Men on deck were screaming and shouting at the bridge, and restraining the other young seaman. The Captain and crew were all Russian, so strife was familiar to them, but it was overwhelming losing the young man in such a horrible way. Standing on the bridge observing the sled release, Majiid turned away and went below, satisfied that his prize was okay.
Port of Miami
Before entering the port of Miami in the morning, a pilot boat came out to meet Morzh with the Customs inspector and Coast Guard. The ship had circled until dawn and the slack tide before approaching the port. As the boat came alongside the ship, Ivanov signaled for the engine to stop, and a ladder was lowered for the officials to come aboard.
As the officers came on deck, Ivanov met them saying in passable English, “Welcome to ship Morzh. I am Captain Yuri Ivanov.” He welcomed them and led them to the bridge where he presented ship’s papers. The manifest showed two holds full and one empty. The purpose of the stop in Miami was to load processed sugar for export to Africa. The passenger manifest showed no passengers and twelve crewmen.
Everything seemed to be in order and the pilot assumed joint command of the ship for docking at the commercial terminal, where immigration officers would come aboard to check passports. Under Ivanov’s instruction, the helmsman followed commands from the pilot entering the port. As the ship moved forward slowly, the Captain informed the trio of officials on the bridge that one of their crew fell overboard around midnight and they had circled all night looking for him without luck. They had radioed his loss to the Miami Port Authority, but they had not seen any aircraft or ships respond to help find the man. Otherwise, this was a routine port stop.
The Search
When the ship docked, four U.S. officers came aboard. Two from Immigration were there to check personnel, and the others searched the ship. The crew was called to the main deck for document review and entry recording. Other than the Captain, none of the crew admitted understanding English, and the immigration officers did not speak Russian. Once processed, they were granted temporary visit permits that ended when the ship left port. The process, including the search, lasted one hour. The Captain then granted the crewmen two days of evening liberty ashore with a rotating skeleton crew staying aboard at all times to watch for fires and deal with emergencies. Generally, three quarters of the crew were able to be off the ship each night in port. Abd al-Majiid, under false identity, was the first to depart without a word to anyone. He would always hate Russians for invading Afghanistan and murdering hundreds of thousands of innocent Muslims, often destroying entire villages without regard to anyone living there. In his mind, they were infidels and should all die!
Deep Water Trawler
The large fishing trawler could drag a fifteen ton net along the seabed, up to three thousand feet below the surface. Destiny was registered out of Port Charlotte on the gulf coast of Florida near Fort Myers, eight
y miles below Tampa Bay. The port is one of the most prolific commercial fishing locations on the gulf. Destiny usually fished the deep channels off the north coast of South America and over to the east coast of Central America. On occasion, it would journey into the Atlantic as far north as Georgia. As a U.S. ship, with current Coast Guard inspections and a clear history, she could fish in legal fishing grounds without drawing any scrutiny or inspections. With nets deployed, the ship could not stop without risking tangling in the propellers.
This week it had been trawling down the east coast of the southern United States, with Captain Ned Thomas in command. Thomas was a lifelong fisherman from a fishing family. He was accustomed to long lonely times at sea. Technically, he had been married for almost twenty years, but the long separations and unreliable income had strained the relationship with his wife most of that time. He was undergoing a difficult divorce and owed his wife half the value of his business, which was, essentially, his boat, with an appraised value over two million dollars. In good seasons, he could clear between $200,000 and $300,000 after expenses,